


Wrong Place, Wrong Time

by lulu-writes (luluwrites)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Swapfell, F/M, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Parking Spot Angst, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Reader Is Not Chara, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 22:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15083300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luluwrites/pseuds/lulu-writes
Summary: Rationally, Sans knows that he doesn'towna parking spot and that you have every right to park in what should be recognized ashisspot. Irrationally, he's built up half of a year's long vendetta against you for doing so, and he's coming to his breaking point.





	Wrong Place, Wrong Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghostscantdie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostscantdie/gifts).



Rationally, Sans knows that there are no assigned spots in the parking lot, even if he paid five-hundred human dollars to be able to park at this university. If he thought Queen Toriel’s educational system was selfish and exploitative, she had nothing in comparison to the human university that was damned to wring his human one-cent coins out of his pockets just because they could. Sometimes, he thinks, bitterly, gritting his teeth and swerving into a spot on the opposite end of the deck,  _ sometimes _ one must make sacrifices for their self-betterment. He watches, glaring hard enough that he  _ hopes _ you can feel it, as you idly get out of your car, pulling your backpack out and slinging it over your shoulder. 

It’s not as if you do it often enough that he could  _ anticipate _ when you would steal his spot, and he’s not sure if you’re doing it on purpose. Certainly you’ve felt his glare on your back or noticed the withering look he’d given you that  _ one _ time you’d asked him, a complete stranger, to keep your things safe from other strangers in the library. Of course he had looked after your things, but it wasn’t like he kept the rapt eye you’d asked him to on your one backpack and packed lunch. 

He’d simply glanced back and forth between his quantum physics doctorate work and your half-packed lunch. With all the stealth and ease he could muster, he’d feigned familiarity and comfort with your items and, rifling through your lunch out of curiosity for just  _ what _ humans liked to eat (and what Papyrus might want packed in his lunch, to offer to his human friends in the astrophysics department), finds a cup of applesauce, a plastic spoon, and half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. With disgust, he’d resealed your lunch and placed it exactly where it’d been sitting, retreating to his seat. 

When you had returned from wherever you had needed to go in the library (the restroom? The library’s cafe?), you’d been all smiles when you thanked him, unaware of his grudge against your parking habits or his curiosity regarding humans. Being the retired head of the Monster Guard (a title now held solely by Alphys, instead of split between the two of them, who he more than trusted to maintain security with human relations), he holds a chastisement on his tongue about stealing other’s property needlessly, or trusting others you didn’t know to defend your items. But he just gives a gruff, “YOU’RE WELCOME.” and leaves it at that. 

And, today, you’ve stolen his spot once again. If you two didn’t arrive at exactly the same time, perhaps he wouldn’t have a face to the SUV that stole his spot. But you did, and therefore he must steam an extra five minutes in his car while Papyrus insists that ‘it’s really not that big of a deal’ and that it’s ‘completely unreasonable that you’re throwing a tantrum over a parking spot’. He’d gotten out of the car, his backpack slung in a ‘cool’ fashion over his one shoulder, and stood at Sans’ window until he’d rolled the window down to respond. 

“I  _ KNOW _ IT’S NOT TECHNICALLY MY SPOT. BUT IF I’VE PARKED THERE FOR ALMOST TWO YEARS, IT SHOULD BE UNDERSTOOD THAT IT’S  _ MY _ SPOT.” With a fury, he cuts the engine and pulls his keys out. “THEY CAN’T POSSIBLY SO STUPID.” 

“i don’t think anyone cares but you, bro.” Papyrus takes the lead in walking onto the campus. Sans snorts as he gathers his books from the backseat- Papyrus didn’t even  _ drive _ to the university, just carpooled with his big brother. What did  _ he _ know about the absolute monster instinct about claimed spaces that made him instinctively want to flip your car right out of the space and park his in its rightful space? Absolutely nothing. Papyrus spent most of his time at the on-campus Chick-fil-a drinking milkshakes and chatting up humans that sat alone, of course he’d think Sans was overreacting. 

“OF COURSE  _ THEY _ CARE. IF THEY DIDN’T, WHY WOULDN’T THEY JUST CHOOSE ANOTHER SPOT OR A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT LOT? IT’S INFURIATING. I HATE THEM.” Papyrus snorts and rolls his eye lights, but he doesn’t mention it again the entire way to the physics building. 

-

It can’t be accidental. By the stars in the fucking  _ sky _ , you can’t be doing this accidentally. With absolute horror, followed by fury, he pulls into a quick-stop that sends Papyrus’ phone sailing out of his hands. “ _ fuck what’s going on. _ ” Blue magic catches his phone before it’s sent sailing through the windshield, his seatbelt catching him harshly at the ribs.

“AGAIN!!!” Sans smacks a hand against the steering wheel. He pulls the car into an adjacent spot and gets out of the car without turning it off all the way. He jams open the door and, just as you’re getting out of your car with a confused look on your face, rounds the back of his car to confront you. “WHY! ARE YOU ALWAYS! PARKING IN MY SPOT!”

“What!” You say, alarmed, arms full of loose papers and binders. His volume apparently startled you, and you rush to maintain your grip on them. “Dude, I just park in this one because it’s closest to the-”

“NONSENSE! EVERY  _ SINGLE _ TIME? IF YOU HAVE SOME SORT OF PERSONAL VENDETTA AGAINST ME, SET YOUR ITEMS DOWN AND WE’LL SETTLE THIS WITH VIOLENCE.” At your blinking confused look, he elaborates, “YOU’VE TROUNCED ON MY PROPERTY. I WANT. MY SPOT BACK.” 

“I... Can’t handle this right now.” You look around in disbelief. You look tired- your hair is slightly askew in a way he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t burned your image into the backs of his eye lights. “Listen, if it means that much to you that you’ll fight me to get it back, I won’t park there any more, but I’ve got a really big lecture today and I  _ can’t _ be late. I’ll be out of your... marrow tomorrow, but I-”

He hadn’t expected such a reasonable response from you, and it disarms him. Based off of your aggressive and reckless driving, he had half-expected you to set your papers down and try to swing on him, but you were immediately defeated. And, apparently, entrenched in research. “I... WHEN IS THE LECTURE? IF YOU HAVE TIME TO MOVE YOUR CAR, YOU COULD BE ‘OUT OF MY MARROW’ BY APPROXIMATELY RIGHT-NOW.”

Your jaw drops. “It’s an eight-am, jerk. I have, like, fifteen minutes to get to class. Just let me stay parked for the hour-fifteen I have to be here and then move your damn car into ‘your’ space.” 

“FINE. IF YOU  _ MUST _ .” He says, trying to put on an air of superiority as you butt your way away from him, locking it behind you. You head off to whatever lecture was  _ so _ important, and Sans is left tapping his foot against the cement. 

Behind him, Papyrus lays on the horn. “it’s too damn early for you to be fighting people in the parking lot!” He says, barely loud enough to be heard over the horn. Apparently, only  _ his _ image mattered to him, and he had no reservations when it came to pointing out Sans’ behavior. “you have a class to get to!” 

“JUST LAY OFF OF THE DAMN HORN AND I’LL GET MY THINGS!” He responds, contesting the volume of the horn, yelling over it. Papyrus immediately pulls his arm back, reclining into his seat. Grumbling, he sorts through the back seat to find his designated notebook for his eight-am lecture, finally finding a pencil amongst the clutter. It was, unfortunately, a mess he often didn’t have the time to sort through. Just as he’s about to exit the car, he feels Papyrus start to recline his seat further, almost pinning him underneath it. “PAPY, THE ABSOLUTE LACK OF RESPECT YOU HAVE FOR ME CRACKS MY SOUL.”

“hey, i’m just leaning back to tell you you’ve got ten minutes to get to class. you need a shortcut?” He says, as he already starts to open his packed lunch and weasel through for those baby carrots he liked to chew on when he was in no-smoking areas. 

“NO. I’LL JUST WALK BRISKLY TO CLASS.” 

He is late for class and has to sit at the back of the lecture hall. It’s a relatively small lecture hall for one of the more in-demand physics classes that was deemed necessary for him to take when he’d attempted to apply his underground doctorates (earned under his father and Queen Toriel’s watchful eye) to the surface’s educational requirements. To be fair, it’s important information and occasionally topics he hasn’t studied before (mostly because theory regarding dark matter was handwaved underground as a type of unstable magic), but the professor often rambles and goes onto different subjects that are unrelated to the topic. 

It reminds him a little too much of his scatterbrained father, and it feels like a waste of his money. 

“Sans, good of you to make it.” The class size is small enough that the professor can call him by name, and he’s not sure if he’s a fan of  _ that _ either. “Unfortunately, I’ll be starting this lecture off by handing the reins over to a student lecturer today. If you all would please welcome...” He lists a name Sans doesn’t recognize and, suddenly, you’re walking up to the podium, your looseleaf papers in your arms and your pencil behind your ear. 

“Good morning, everyone. Today I’ll be discussing-” Suddenly, of almost fifty students, your eyes meet his in a sweep of the room. Your tight smile immediately drops and you have to visibly collect yourself before continuing. “I’ll be discussing several hypothetical particles, as covered by exotic matter. I’ve prepared a presentation for you to follow along with.” 

For the next hour and fifteen minutes, with your pencil behind your left ear, you talk at length about negative mass and your theories on how blue magic and orange magic could potentially account for it. For the first ten minutes, he tries to weasel some contempt into his expression but, as he watches you earnestly and passionately discuss your chosen doctoral thesis, he feels it fall off of his face. He spends the lecture with his pencil held loosely in his grip, eye sockets tangibly wide, and he just  _ listens _ to you talk. 

Sans is surprised at the sudden lack of animosity he feels. He’s even more surprised by the feeling of admiration that wells in his soul. Were these the notes you’d been holding in your backpack for this lecture? Had he accidentally bumped into you so many times in the parking lot because you parked there for the leisure of being closer to the physics building?

How had he gone  _ literal months _ of being pissed at you without knowing anything about you other than the make and model of your car?

By the end of the lecture, he knows he has to say something. At the very least, an apology. He calls your name when class ends, walking to the front of the classroom, his loud voice carrying over the din of several students talking all at once to one another, and you turn around from where you’d finished talking to the professor. “Oh. Angry parking guy.” 

“MY NAME IS SANS SERIF.” He corrects you, but you don’t look impressed. “I CAME TO YOU TO APOLOGIZE FOR MY BEHAVIOR. IF I KNEW YOU WERE ALSO HEADED TO THE SAME BUILDING, NONETHELESS THE LECTURE, I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SO RUDE THIS MORNING.” Behind you, the professor gathers his things and starts to exit through the back door of the hall.

Your eyes flit to the professor, then back to him. You raise an eyebrow. “Listen, I don’t really want your apology if you’re only saying this because you found out we’re in the same department.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I get it. You usually park there. I’m usually in a rush when I park there, it’s not because I’m doing it out of spite. I didn’t do it to, like, offend you or get you to fight me in the parking lot.” 

“I... ALRIGHT. I’M WILLING TO ACCEPT THAT AS AN EXPLANATION. IT... PERHAPS IT MAKES MORE SENSE THAN MY EARLY MORNING THOUGHTS OF SOME LONG SCHEME TO RUIN MY PARKING STREAK.” Sans feels lame saying it outloud, like somehow he must be the most rational monster at all hours of the day. “AGAIN. I’M GENUINELY SORRY. IF YOU HADN’T GIVEN THIS LECTURE, I LIKELY WOULDN’T HAVE THOUGHT OF YOU AS ACTUALLY NEEDING THE SPACE. I SHOULDN’T HAVE REACTED SO HARSHLY.” 

Even so, you regard him suspiciously. “Well, Sans Serif.” You say his name like you’re not even sure if it  _ is _ his name. “I guess I accept your apology. I’m headed back home, anyways, so I’ll be moving my car if you want that spot back so desperately.” 

“I THINK I’LL LEARN HOW TO LIVE WITHOUT IT.” Sans says, thinking about his brother and how he’d said no one else probably even considered it. “YOU ARE WELL WITHIN YOUR RIGHTS TO DECLINE, BUT IF YOU’RE GOING TO LEAVE CAMPUS... WOULD IT BE OUT OF LINE FOR ME TO BUY YOU LUNCH TO MAKE UP FOR MY BEHAVIOR?” Not only that, but the idea of sitting down and talking to you at length about your lecture was increasingly appealing. It had been a while since he’d been so genuinely intrigued by something a human-led class had presented, and it was so strange and interesting how humans could perceive magic as something uncoupled from living. As a force within science, one that could have laws and rules.

Your suspicion only seems to increase, “Why would you offer me lunch? Just because you were kind of a dick doesn’t mean we have to do lunch.” He realizes how strange this must be for you, for some strange monster to yell at you, then ask you for lunch. 

“ACTUALLY, ON TOP OF MY NEED TO RECONCILE AND PROVE TO YOU THAT BEING KIND OF A DICK ISN’T MY PERMANENT PERSONALITY, YOU BROUGHT UP SOME INTERESTING POINTS IN YOUR LECTURE REGARDING THE APPLICATION OF MAGIC TO PHYSICS.” Sans gives you what he hopes is his best smile, all sharp teeth shown. “IF IT WOULDN’T INCONVENIENCE YOU, I WOULD LIKE TO TALK MORE IN-DEPTH REGARDING THESE POINTS, AS THEY APPLY TO MY THESIS.” 

“Shoot, really?” You look around the now-empty classroom, then back at him. “You’re not just making that up to get, like, a really weird date out of me after you yelled at me in the parking lot?” 

“I APOLOGIZED FOR THAT, AND NO. THIS IS A PLATONIC OUTING BETWEEN TWO SCIENTISTS.”

“Dude, you have  _ no _ idea how much I’ve wanted to discuss my thesis with another student!” That passion lights up in your eyes, and you start to gather all of your materials back in your arms. “The hypothetical situations humans have been discussing  _ forever _ \- instantaneously generated power from yellow magic, gravity-defying particles with negative mass from blue magic... Do... Do you actually want to talk about it?” Your voice goes a little hesitant, a little curious and shy, and you pivot a little closer to him, a small smile on your face. 

“IN CASE YOU COULDN’T TELL BY MY ABSOLUTELY RAPT ATTENTION AT THE BACK OF THE CLASSROOM, THERE IS NOTHING I WOULD ENJOY MORE THAN LISTENING TO YOU DISCUSS QUANTUM MECHANICS OVER A COFFEE.” He says, and you smile at him, the corners of your smile pulling up one side at a time until you’re beaming at him. 

“Yeah? No offense, but I get the feeling you don’t sit down and listen very often.”

“OH, NONE TAKEN. BUT I THINK I KNOW WHEN SOMEONE’S AHEAD OF ME.” He gives you what he hopes is an approachable wink, and tries a little awkwardly at a joke, “EVEN IF IT’S JUST BECAUSE THEY’RE ALREADY IN MY PARKING SPOT.” 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu at [my tumblr!](http://www.skelezbian.tumblr.com)
> 
> Requested by ghostscantdie on tumblr! This one's more of a friendship kind of fic, but I had some fun w it! I'm literally going to fill up the Sans (Swapfell)/Reader tag so! look forward to that!


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